


In the dark I had no name

by megyal



Category: Naruto
Genre: Community: kakairu_kink, Established Relationship, Loneliness, M/M, Missing someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iruka waits, and waiting is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the dark I had no name

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [**prompt**](http://kakairu-kink.livejournal.com/1758.html?thread=952798#t952798) at the KakaIru Kink Meme: _I want something that really delves into Iruka's feelings while Kakashi is away. Because waiting is hard._

The mornings aren't bad; they're not _easy_ , but they're manageable. Iruka wakes up feeling like shit, of course, a direct result of either falling asleep only a few hours prior, or having the sort of rest that shouldn't be called 'rest' at all. It is, in fact, the direct opposite of rest. It is unrest. Anti-rest.

In addition, he has to wake up at least forty minutes before he actually gets up out of the bed. He takes that time to coax himself out of repose, switching from a gentle sort of heckling to a state of dull but increasing panic over his lethargy. The fastest time that he'd ever risen was when he'd gotten so _angry_ at himself: he had ended up blazing with wrath, because he'd pictured Kakashi's expression if he ever found out about Iruka being such a complete ball of misery. Kakashi's expression would be bland, as usual, except in the eye: in that, there would be such a depth of sorrow and guilt and empathy. He would definitely blame himself for Iruka's state, because that was what Kakashi did best. Iruka had fairly leapt out of bed at that thought, fists clenched and fairly trembling in annoyance at himself.

_Tomorrow I'll do better_ , he told himself that day. _Tomorrow_.

The next day had been completely shitty, of course. The absolute _worst_.

But, Iruka muddles on as best as he can, which is fairly efficient muddling; he is still a teacher and a shinobi, despite everything. After he convinces himself to get up, to get clean and put on clean clothes, he has to feed himself. He dislikes cooking because he forgets and makes too much; the fridge is always full and he has to call Naruto to perform clean-up duties.

"Thank so much for the food," Naruto always says, so grown up and so polite. Iruka loves him to pieces. "You ok, big bro?"

"I'm fine," is Iruka's constant refrain. Naruto just looks at him with those shining eyes, gaze sharp. He shakes his head a little, and gives Iruka rib-cracking hugs. "I'm fine," Iruka says, _keeps_ saying. _I'm fine. I'm fine._

He goes to work and because he has always been a very good actor, his classes go off without any major hitches; he is so grateful to Past Iruka for being so damned organized. All his lesson plans are properly compiled, his student profiles painstakingly detailed. He is also grateful to his reflexes: he has caught so many sharp weapons while his brain was caught up in doing utter bullshit with its time. The students appear increasingly impressed these days; being lonely and heartsick is, apparently, good for _something_.

Iruka goes on missions himself when school is not in session, short ones that take him out of Konoha for a few days. He likes slipping into that mindless mode of duty. He has dispatched with seventeen enemies and missing-nin since Kakashi has been away. It's a personal record, really.

The Missions Desk is his favourite, though. It can be dull sometimes, but usually it is a high energy task, demanding a lot of his attention. He feels truly himself at the Missions Desk: a sprinkle of smart-mouth but not discourtesy, a pinch of the flirtatious, a heap of scolding, and a great serving of earnest. _Do your best. Come back safe_. He's so engrossed that he forgets when he's supposed to leave, and he reluctantly departs at shift-change.

The setting of the sun can be dreadful. If he's on a mission, he either is on watch or locking down into an automated sort of sleep. If he's at the Missions Desk, he doesn't really notice the dusk. If he's at home, he feels despair. He forces himself to mark some students' work, but when that is over, he has to go to bed.

Iruka admits that he loiters. He finds Kakashi's missives, scraps of paper or leaves that he keeps inside a small wooden box, terse notes from his long mission, using their own personal code. _Crossing Sandy Sea. At Jiro Island. At the Land of the Sea_. Iruka holds these as if they can connect them directly to Kakashi. He strokes them with his fingers, he presses them against his cheeks. He wants to write back to Kakashi, but the ongoing nature of his mission makes it nigh impossible for Iruka to know where he is at any one time.

_I miss you so much. I want you home_ , he wants to write. _I long for you. I'm so worried. I love you._

\--

Iruka can never sleep properly. He tries to tire himself out; once, he'd taken up a few of Gai's challenges in the night, walking on his hands, doing what felt like a million push-ups. He'd been so pumped up that he hadn't managed to fall asleep at all. Gai is disappointed that Iruka doesn't take up his challenges as much anymore, but is still fairly pleased that Iruka humours him now and again.

The problem of no-sleep is exceedingly easy to diagnose: he can't sleep because Kakashi isn't around. That's a little bit laughable, because for a great quantity of his life, he didn't share a bed and a home with a lanky jounin who is more likely to lounge around in the house than go out and socialize. He didn't have the individual deemed Hokage Apparent (once Tsunade-Hime properly retires) trying to sort laundry or bathing the dogs or whittling down his nails _with a kunai_ ( _Kakashi_ , _we own an actual nail clipper_ ). Iruka managed to survive so many years without Kakashi embedded in his skin.

He tells himself this in a huffy fashion, but that doesn't stop him from rolling back and forth in the bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. There is no comfortable spot. Kakashi isn't very bulky, he's tall and skinny, but he's very _substantial_. He fills all the spaces that Iruka doesn't. He has the habit of putting his cold feet against Iruka's, and laughing against the skin at the back of Iruka's neck as he grumbles in displeasure. His arms feel so heavy and his upper body is so disparately warm from his ice-cube feet. In the summer Iruka has to worm out of Kakashi's octopus grip so he can stop sweating buckets, just because Kakashi has gathered him so close. 

In the cold season, Kakashi's heat is a blessing. Iruka thinks that Kakashi's feet are so chilly because he keeps so much up in his chest. It's the reason why his heartbeat is so slow against Iruka's fingertips; his heart is weighed down by so many things, by his past, by his eye, by his future, by his status. Iruka likes to press his fingers against that measured pulse, as if he can support it through touch alone. 

Who's helping Kakashi's heart, if Iruka is here, sleepless, too cold and too hot in turns?

\-- 

Waiting at the main gate to Konoha is kind of heartbreaking, and Iruka will fight anyone who dares to laugh at this. To minimize his propensity to punch people who smirk right in the _fucking mouth_ , he leaves his house when he's tired of not sleeping, and trudges to the main gate. There is a hut a small distance away from the gate and guard-post, a covered area with a few benches underneath. On days that there is a confirmed mission complete, and a team is _definitely_ going to return soon, the benches are full. People wait when they can, hoping that they'll be lucky to see their loved ones walk in through the gate, to give a tired smile or a quick touch on the wrist before moving on to the Missions Desk.

Iruka can't take the looks on their faces when the person they're waiting for doesn't walk through the gate. It's an expression of stunned stillness, then a sort of falling, as if their soul has just dropped off an edge. He has to turn away from their consuming grief, because he feels so much guilt and fear at the sight.

One night, the waiting benches are nearly empty apart from another man. Iruka knows him: civilian, works at a grocery shop, married to a tokubetsu jounin named Miwako on Kakashi's team. Iruka doesn't quite remember his name at the moment, but the other man's expression brightens under the flickering lamp-light when Iruka claims a spot on the same bench.

"Iruka-sensei," the man says, a smile fixed on his brown, handsome face. "So nice to see you."

His name swims up in Iruka's memory. "So nice to see you as well, Shinakio-san."

They sit there for a long time, in silence. Iruka opens his mouth a few times to speak, but then closes it again, because Shinakio doesn't seem particularly inclined to communicate. There is something hard about his face, like a rock that has suddenly developed the ability to emote.

"Do you think," Shinakio says three hours later, startling Iruka. "...forgive me, sensei, but do you think she's all right?"

_I am not equipped to deal with this_ , Iruka thinks, but he rubs a hand over his mouth and jaw, his stubble rasping against his palm.

"I think so," he finally answers, and Shinakio lets out a small sigh.

"Yes," Shinakio says, as if he's trying out new words. "I think so too."

\---

The bed is too warm, and Iruka has kicked off all the sheets. He is not quite asleep, because he knows that he need to get awake again in about an hour. He's so tired.

He feels his whole body melt at the familiar chakra surrounding him, and the cold feet sliding against his. Iruka turns into that furnace of a chest and lets his fingers rest against the enduring beat.

Iruka tried to speak, to say _welcome home_ , but he's gone down into slumber so suddenly, so completely, that he knows nothing else.

fin


End file.
